The Wretched and the Beautiful
by EnjolrasIsMine
Summary: The angsty mixing of a Revolutionary and a Gamine. Yes, another EE fic (How I love them!), and there's more to come. Rated PG13 because things could get ugly later.
1. Prologue, Part One: Sometimes She Cried

**Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables or its characters, blah, blah, blah, etc. It's all Hugo's doings, and I don't take one ounce of the credit. But please enjoy this story anyway.  
  
UPDATE 3/13/04: Good point, AmZ. I have changed that little detail.  
  
***Prologue, Part One: Sometimes She Cried***  
  
No one could see her in the hiding place--no one--because not a soul dared to venture out into the dark alleys of Paris at such a late hour, especially not in the seedy areas like these. But more importantly, no one heard her weeping next to the discarded wooden crates outside the Corinthe, and she liked it that way.  
  
She never wanted anyone to see her cry because tears were for the weak of heart and the weak of mind, and such fools could not survive on the streets. Crying did not restore life to the corpses of the countless beggars who died of illness and famine, nor did it earn her a sou to buy bread with; crying did not bring the love of Marius into her life. But crying felt so very good when the tears ached behind her eyes and tightened up her throat.  
  
Nighttime was the only time to shed those burdens, to relieve the stress and tension of the day by curling up against the crumbling old brick wall and letting the brackish streams of pain drizzle down her cheeks. She only wished her mother were there to sing her a lullaby and pat her shoulder, telling her that everything would be alright.  
  
"Hush, Eponine," she would say soothingly, hugging her daughter close and waving away all her woes. "That silly boy is a fool not to recognize what a treasure you are."  
  
Yes, how wonderful to have such kind reassurance. But sadly, Eponine's mother knew not of her love for Marius, and Eponine had no intention of telling her about such a thing. Saying it only made the pain more real. At least if she never admitted the sorrowful truth, she could cling to the false hope that someday the two of them might be together. But even that did not ease her mind at present.  
  
Thus, she cried alone, amongst the filth and despair, and did so only when she was sure no one could hear her. She took great pains to stay as quiet as possible; the only sounds she made were a few forlorn sobs mixed with silent tears, and even they were not loud enough to be identified. To pass by that deserted alley and hear her melancholy weeping, one would most likely assume it was merely one of the innumerable stray cats yowling in the stillness of the city. It was an easy mistake.  
  
But most of the time, no one heard her at all. 


	2. Prologue, Part Two: Sometimes He Paced

**Prologue, Part Two: Sometimes He Paced**  
  
He was the type of boy who could never be completely understood; he was an enigma of sorts, a roaring fire hidden by an impenetrable layer of ice. At night he would pine by himself in the solitude of the empty Corinthe, and he would do so for hours, pining and pining sometimes until the sun rose the next morning.  
  
Thus was the life of Julien Enjolras, the radiant young revolutionary of France: by day he preached; by night he brooded. No one ever really knew the things over which he deliberated, but somehow he sent the message to the world to let him alone when he did so. And no one argued with this.  
  
Step, step, step, he paced up and down the wooden floor, eyes fixed on everything and nothing in particular. He truly was a sight to behold, a young, rich Apollo with rumpled hair and furrowed brow. The scarlet and gold vest that once rested crisp and neat upon his shoulders now lay in a heap on a table from being unceremoniously tossed aside. Such a tidy boy in such a state!  
  
Julien always kept himself in order, except on those nights when he paced and pondered this way, at which times his soft, reasonably short golden hair fell across his eyes, forcing him to push it away irritably from time to time; he allowed his black cravat to nearly untie and drape itself loosely about his clavicles; he pushed up his shirtsleeves and unbuttoned his blouse a bit in the hazy heat of the summer night, continuing his seemingly endless debate.  
  
After the routine meetings with his friends he still had leftover energy to burn, more thoughts to pick at, a craving for thinking that could not be satisfied by further discussion with his comrades. There still remained a people he must save--lost and forgotten in the gutters of Paris-- who did not sleep, so neither would he.  
  
But at last he sat at a table, unable to pace any more without losing his mind, and buried his face in his hands, rubbing his tired eyes in fatigue and frustration. He raked a hand through his silken hair and heaved a sigh before standing once more and gathering up his vest from its dejected spot on the table's surface. He then pulled it over his shoulders and headed for the door, finally exhausted from his mysterious musings, and exited the Corinthe.  
  
A fine boy out at such a late hour might have appeared suspicious to most anyone, had they seen him emerge at that moment.  
  
But most of the time, no one crossed his path. 


	3. Chapter One: Midnight Rendezvous

**Chapter One: Midnight Rendezvous**  
  
And so these two unrelated individuals went about their customary practices upon this summer's eve of 1828, each of them in their own world, unaware of the other:  
  
Eponine traced a heart in the dirt with her right index finger while absentmindedly drying a tear with her left. The crying had nearly stopped, and all that remained was a sort of exhausted uneasiness that set tension in her jaw. Her neck muscles were sore from having her teeth clenched so as not to sob loudly, and her arms, already weak and bruised from previous struggles, felt limp and tired.  
  
Inside her crude little drawing she marked an "M" and an "E," and retracted her arm to admire her work. Perfect. Eponine and Marius forever, that was the way it would be.  
  
"I love you, Marius," she whispered shakily, and smiled, closing her eyes. Then the crying came again. It was as though her eyes had instantly refilled their supply of tears, for they kept streaming doggedly down her face, refusing to let her feel happiness again.  
  
With the palm of her hand she effaced the heart picture and made a fist to pound it miserably, then drew her knees to her chest with both arms and wept.  
  
It was at about this time that Julien Enjolras emerged from the deserted café. Mind elsewhere, he began to start his walk home, but only took a few paces before stopping.  
  
He had heard a noise, a choked sound that came from somewhere around the corner. Pulling his mind away from his previous thoughts, he paused in the middle of the road and listened intently to the silence. It was another moment before he heard it again, softer, yet still audible.  
  
Unsure of exactly what made the sound, Julien became suddenly curious and turned on his heel to approach it. He had never before encountered anyone on his late nights at the Corinthe, and the concept of seeing someone now put him ill at ease.  
  
Still, despite his misgivings, he decided to investigate the source of the problem. Perhaps it had only been a cat, he told himself as he rounded the corner of the Corinthe. Yes, that was a logical explanation. Looking down the alley next to the old building, all he saw were some empty wine crates, a perfect home for a few strays.  
  
But the next time the sound came his suspicions were disproved. No cat could produce such a forlorn cry, a fact that both frightened and intrigued him.  
  
Eponine heard his footsteps echoing down the passage and lifted her head in shock. Heart racing, she instantly conjured up a series of frightening images in her head, imagining that one of the scary night prowlers that wandered the streets at night had found her and was now coming to murder her, and no one would be around to hear her scream. Or worse, maybe it was her father looking for her to help him rob a house. If she refused, he would surely beat her again. Oh, no. Anything but that.  
  
So she immediately stopped her crying and held her breath in an attempt to hide from whatever enemy might have been approaching her, though she knew it would be too late to save herself anyway.  
  
Julien paused when the crying sound stopped and briefly considered turning around, but curiosity got the better of him. He walked on, drawing ever nearer to the hiding girl.  
  
By now Eponine had begun to frantically fear for her life, unaware that the man sharing her alleyway was a handsome young scholar and not a horrible, burly ogre of a criminal.  
  
[i]He's going to kill me,[/i] she told herself in terror, finding it ever harder to sit still. [i]He's going to kill me if I don't kill him first.[/i] Then, making up her mind to save her own life, she pulled together an incredible amount of courage and spoke as menacingly as she could:  
  
"I would turn back now if I were you, Monsieur," she hissed, clenching her fists in fear and apprehension.  
  
Julien started at the sound of her voice, but did not turn back. Instead, he stood dumbstruck and a little nervous, though not terribly so because he recognized the voice as a woman's. A woman would not put up a fight.  
  
Eponine waited for the sound of his retreating footsteps, but they never came. Her predator still waited for her, ready to pounce, probably with a knife or a gun or some other horrific murderous device.  
  
"Wotcher waiting for, Monsieur?" she demanded, feigning ominous toughness, though she felt even more frightened inside. "I warned you. You'd best get out of here before you regret it."  
  
Still Enjolras did not move from his spot, and even worked up the daring to take a few steps toward the girl.  
  
Furious and frightened and hysterical, Eponine dropped her calm façade and stood, ready to run. Now Julien could see her, as the crates no longer concealed her body.  
  
"You try anything and I'll kill you, I swear it," she screamed frenetically. "I'd kill you with my bare hands, and I can do it, too! I can and I will!"  
  
At this point it was clear to Julien that this skinny gamine was of no threat to him, so he sighed in annoyance and rolled his eyes. To think that he had wasted his time in this filthy alley, when all that lurked down there was a vagrant adolescent girl.  
"Mademoiselle, I assure you," he said snippily. "I have no intention of causing you any harm. Forgive me for intruding into your..."  
  
He allowed his sentence to trail off, for he thought it in poor taste to call such a grubby street a home. He was not even sure she lived there at all. At any rate, he cast a disdainful look about the grimy street, considering it a pity that a lady should spend the night in such a dark place. Then he re-buttoned his blouse--a bit embarrassed for having forgotten to do so earlier--and sniffled, for the night had begun to cool.  
  
"Anyway, I suggest you find a safer place to stay," he continued. "It feels as though it might rain."  
  
Turning, he made his way back out into the street. It wasn't until he had walked several meters that he remembered why he had ventured down that alley in the first place. The girl had been crying, a detail he forgot in the midst of their showdown, and Julien immediately began to regret having treated her so unkindly. She most likely didn't have anywhere better to go.  
  
At the same time, Eponine started to catch her breath. At last the terror was over, though she did feel rather curious now as to whom this mysterious boy was and why he walked the streets so late at night. She had no idea he was standing right behind her.  
  
"Forgive me, mademoiselle," Eponine leapt up in horror at the voice, still shaken from her recent shock, and swung her fist around as hard as possible. When she heard the young man groan, she instantly regretted her anxious reflex.  
  
Enjolras stumbled backward, surprised at the girl's unexpected reaction, and brought a hand to his face in pain. Eponine had hit him square in the nose, and he wondered whether or not it was broken.  
  
"Mon dieu!" Eponine exclaimed, rushing to the boy and catching him before he fell to the ground. "I am so sorry, Monsieur! I--you startled me, and, oh! You are bleeding!"  
  
Julien pulled away quickly, growling with frustration, but Eponine acted quickly and tore a strip of cloth off her blouse. She held it out to the young man, and he took it after a moment, wiping the blood from his upper lip and dabbing at the wound until the bleeding stopped. All the while, Eponine muttered frantic apologies, feeling terrible for attacking a rich boy and fearing that he would report her to the police.  
  
But the boy just shook his head, despite feeling dreadfully annoyed at being hit, and dismissed the incident, an act that triggered a stream of thanks from Eponine.  
  
"Oh, Monsieur is a wonderful, wonderful man!" she exclaimed, utterly upset and confused and relieved all at once. What an awful night it had been!  
  
"Not at all," Enjolras sniffed, then remembered yet again why he had gone back to the girl. "I only came to ask you why you had cried earlier."  
  
This question caught Eponine completely off-guard. All at once she began to feel humiliated at having been heard, as well as angry with the boy for spying on her. Suddenly all the painful memories of Marius filled her head again and she found it more and more difficult to restrain her tears.  
  
"That is not important," she replied curtly. "Now why don't you go home before it rains. It's not safe out here."  
  
At this Enjolras sighed in annoyance again and regretted even asking. Why did he waste his time? The whole matter seemed incredibly foolish to him after the fact, and now his nose was probably broken.  
  
"It is not safe for you either," he snapped, and re-tied his cravat, another thing he had forgotten to do before.  
  
"Well Monsieur must understand," retorted Eponine with equal bitterness. "That I don't have much of a choice in where I sleep."  
  
And for a moment the two young figures stood in the silence of midnight in the underbelly of Paris, each feeling like a fool and resenting the other. But finally Julien spoke:  
  
"That is why I am here," he said. "To protect people like you." Then he exited the alley at last.  
  
As Eponine watched him walk away she wondered what he meant and whether or not she would see him again. For the third time, she began to cry and the rain fell at last.  
  
**A/N: Well, how is it coming along? Thank you all for the reviews you've given me. You know I love them! Keep 'em coming! 


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